Remember Me
by thegoofybookworm
Summary: EWE: A year after the war, Hermione goes missing…and nobody expects her to reappear the way she does. After a restorative memory charm gone wrong, it seems her own memory has failed. Who else should find her, than one of the prime Aurors on her case?
1. Chapter 1

**_November 28, 2005_**

The first time he saw her again, she was walking down Muggle London. In fact, she was leaving a small, family-owned bookstore with a recently wrapped hardcover book cradled securely in her arms as she marched resolutely down the sidewalk. Her long brown curls had been nearly impossible to recognize, as they had been cropped to just above her shoulders and tamed to the point where they fell in lighter, gentle waves instead of impossible to manage frizzes. She was clad in a shapely, predictably maroon jacket, with a thick brown scarf wrapped around her neck. Her cheeks were tinted with the faintest of autumn pinks, and her typically brilliant eyes were scanning the crowds.

He was tempted to go talk to her, though not for his own nefarious purposes. The hero of the story had been conducting searches for his best friend since the year after the war, to no avail. Not even their Auror knowledge combined was strong enough to locate her. No trace of her magic was found, nor did they have her filed under any hotel records or even the newly implemented security measures, the _Mad Eyes_ (named after the greatest Auror of the modern age). It was admirable how she had managed to somehow avoid the wizarding world entirely, alluding even the best of authorities—and yet she was doing something as careless as meander down a crowded Muggle street, with only her hair distinguishing her from the witch that the world now could recognize.

Yes, in short, he was tempted to go talk to her—but he decided against it. If he scared her off, she would take another six years to find, time that they could not afford. He watched her from the other side of the street, as she stopped inside a coffeehouse with an extremely generic name, like The Nook or The Hole. Nothing too memorable, in any case. He waited for her to reappear, though he would not have been surprised if she apparated from within the vicinity. Sure, if she opted to do so, his superiors would be immediately alerted and they would have her within seconds. Still, he watched from his spot by the street sign.

He was all but inconspicuous, in his typical dark grey attire. A simple heat-preserving charm had allowed for him to wear an outfit that accentuated his slimmer physique and not catch a powerful cold. His cheeks, however, did acquire a rosy tint, one which was partially covered by the dark glasses he wore. These made it easier to watch her from such a distance.

He was a bit surprised to see her emerge from the shop, a large cup in her hand. She took a seat outside of the shop, at one of the outer tables by the obviously plastic floral arrangements. After peeling off her gloves, she eagerly unwrapped the book, carefully laying the intact wrapping paper opposite her on the table as she flipped the book to the first page. Adopting a more relaxed sitting position, she sunk into the story comfortably, every once in a while holding the cup up to her lips. He was all but mesmerized as he observed her changing facial expressions, which undoubtedly matched the storyline to her ever-interesting book. He seriously considered crossing the road just to talk to her, but decided instead to keep his distance…at least for today.

So, instead of going up to greet her, he swiftly turned the corner and disappeared into the busy street.

* * *

**_December 14, 2005_**

The second time he saw her again, she was Christmas tree shopping. He himself had decided that, at least this year—if only to celebrate having spotted her for the first time in six years—he should make an effort to decorate the manor. His mother, who had finally reconciled with Andromeda, was spending the winter there, rather than with him. Not that he was bothered. Quite on the contrary, he much preferred the solitude that the empty manor had to offer. Now devoid of other people and house elves, at least at the moment, it was his private sanctuary where he could think without interruptions.

In the public-induced Christmas spirit, he had decided to purchase a Christmas tree for the drawing room. It could go right in the corner by the window, preferably blocking the nevertheless tinted glass from any prying eyes or nosy reporters obsessively documenting his life as an ex-Death Eater bachelor. He smirked to himself at the thought as he apparated outside of the field one night, and calmly made his way by foot into the frenzy.

The first sign of her presence was not a wisp of hair in the wind, nor was it a tell tale red and gold scarf. On the contrary, he had first heard her gentle, smooth voice, carried to his ears through the wind, and he had immediately recognized it as hers. After over two weeks of no leads, here he had found her once more. This truly was to be considered nothing short of a miracle. He walked around a particularly thick tree with a sturdy trunk, pretending to admire it, while she spoke to one of the salesmen about the tree she herself was examining.

"Oh, but I'm not sure it will fit," she lamented, crossing her arms and sighing. She almost sounded disappointed. Next to her, the short man with the dark green jacket crossed it off in his notebook. It seemed that this man had been assigned specifically to the witch, and had made a list of the trees she might be interested in viewing. He leaned imperceptibly, catching a glimpse of her almost tortured expression.

"Nonsense, of course it will fit!" insisted the man, sounding grumpy. Well, he was paid to say that. "However, if the lady is really discontent with this selection, there are a few shorter trees at the other side of the arboretum. Would you be interested in seeing them?"

The woman bit her bottom lip indecisively. From his vantage point, he could tell that she was still hung up on the tree. _She's a witch, she can shrink it herself, _he thought, slightly bothered that she hadn't yet considered that possibility. "It's alright for now," she finally told the salesman. "Can I…can I have a few minutes? I need to think."

The salesman nodded and began to walk in the other man's direction. He hurriedly busied himself with reading the price tag on the nearest tree, which was not particularly interesting to begin with. The man in the green vest slowed down beside him. "Good evening, sir. May I help you?"

"No," he snapped, some frustration showing. He turned to look at the salesman, who was regarding him with a detached expression. "No, that's alright. Just browsing." This sent the little man on his way.

She had heard the conversation, and had even craned her neck to see him. Her hair that night was pulled up into a messy bun, tied with an elastic band due to its short length. She wore a cream-coloured beanie over it, pulled to cover the tips of her ears. Her breath was coming out in little puffs of smoke, and she was shivering slightly in her dark green jacket and plain white pants. Dark leather boots were tied halfway up to her knees, and her dark brown gloves held in them the price tag of the tree she was thinking about. Except that right at that moment, she was watching the blond man a few ways away, her honey-coloured eyes lingering on him. It was for only one minute, however. After that, her brow furrowed and she continued to stare up at the tree.

Puzzled as to why she had not approached him, or even fled, the man walked towards her, his hands in the pockets of his, again magically heated, dark grey jacket. Her lips were pursed as she considered the price, and then gaped open slightly when she looked up to check once again the full height of the tree. He stopped right next to her, not looking at the tree but wondering why she could not simply shrink it. She, more than anyone, should be able to.

"Excuse me?" he muttered in a low, gruff voice. He cleared his throat a bit; it seemed to have blocked with the cold.

Startled, she turned to face him. She thought he seemed vaguely familiar, though she could not immediately place him. "Can I help you?" she asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow quizzically. She often did not call the attention of strangers, as she tried her best to look plain and stay under the radar. This was a rare occurrence to her.

He took a bewildered step back. _Can I help you? _What kind of question was that? She disappeared from the wizarding world six years ago, without so much as an apparition trace to lead authorities, and now the first thing she said to a graduated Auror—and _him_, of all people, no less—was _Can I help you? _What was the matter with her? "Oh, honestly, of all things you could have said," he groaned. She frowned further now. "Yes, you can help me! Where have you _been_? Potter and Weasley have been looking for you _everywhere_! The whole world has been looking for Hermione Granger!"

"Hermione _Granger_?" repeated the woman vacantly, her head tilting slowly to the side as to regard him curiously. He barely suppressed a growl. "Who's that?"

"This isn't funny, Granger," he began angrily. How dare she snub him so? "You can_not_ disappear like this, and just leave the rest of us to worry about you! What were you _think_—"

Her eyes widened with fear. Who was he, and why was he yelling at her? "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" she cried out, raising her hands before herself protectively. "But you've got the wrong person! I'm not Granger, or whoever it is you are looking for." She straightened her jacket angrily, and pushed past him, forgetting all about the tree by which she had been so mesmerized.

He stood there by himself, stunned beyond belief by their exchange. What did she mean, she wasn't Granger? Hell, he would have bet his own wand on it! It was her, alright. He recognized the intelligent shine in her eyes, the slightly upturned nose, the brown hair. Her entire appearance screamed _Granger_. Snapping out of it, he realized she was halfway to the other side of the arboretum. He cursed beneath his breath and began to follow her, only to realize she might not appreciate being stalked. Granger or not, girls typically frowned upon that sort of behaviour. With the metaphoric tail between his legs, he made his way out of the arboretum, Disapparating a few ways away into the physical warmth of his house.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for checking out this story! This little plot bunny popped up while reading another story, and I just couldn't leave it alone. What did you think? **

**If you follow me on tumblr, I posted the idea a few months ago, but only now have written enough chapters to start publishing. I should be able to update every other week. **

**If you're following me on my other stories, don't worry! I _will_ be updating soon, hopefully. **

**Please remember to leave a review! : )**

**Love always!**

**-TGBW**


	2. Chapter 2

**_December 20, 2005 _**

The third time he saw her again, he was at a Muggle store. His sole purpose for being there was purchasing some plain liquor, seeing as he believed it to be slightly stronger than the wizard kind. He stood in line to pay, with a considerate amount of people before him; and would not have even seen her, had it not been for a casual glance towards the greeting cards aisle. He silently thought to himself, _Maybe I ought to buy Mother and Father a nice Christmas card. _Then he smirked, almost unnoticeably. His mother, he could give a card. His father, on the other hand…Well, he couldn't imagine what use a Christmas card could be in Azkaban. Then again, there was always the slight chance it might help in fighting off dementors.

When he looked into the aisle, there she stood, each of her hands holding a different card. She was looking at the one in her left hand, worrying her lip distractedly. Once again, she wore the same maroon coat he'd seen her in at the coffeehouse. She also wore thick, black wool tights in the dark leather boots from the pine tree arboretum. Her hair was held back in a ponytail, with a few strands hanging loosely by her oddly sunkissed cheeks. _Where has she been getting sunlight? _he thought jealously, continuing his assessment. No beanie this time.

Deciding this was as good a time as any to speak to her, he asked the clerk—who was carrying a box of whiskey bottles—to hold the place for him as he went to speak to her. He approached her slowly, not wanting to scare her. She did not even notice him until he arrived just next to her.

"Hello?" he breathed, pretending to examine a Christmas card. _Actually, _he thought as he picked it out, _I could give this to Mother._

"Wha—oh!" she squealed, jumping a bit from the surprise. _So much for not scaring her! _Her cheeks flooded with heat as she regained her composure, eying him distrustfully. "You again? Come to yell at me some more?"

A half-smirk appeared on his face. Ah, so she _did_ remember him. _Well, _he shrugged to himself, raising an amused eyebrow at the witch who was all but glowering at him. _I'm not exactly easy to forget. _"I apologize," he said, bowing his head slightly, almost modestly. "I confused you with an acquaintance of mine; her name was Hermione Granger."

"You said as much," confirmed the woman, lowering her gaze to keep flickering between the two greeting cards. Her eyes were framed by the thickest, curved eyelashes, and her eyebrows furrowed as she opened one of the cards. It said something about a snowman. After reading it, she quickly looked up, only to see the stranger still standing there. She sighed and placed both cards back on the rack. "Do you _need _something, sir?"

He couldn't help it; his grin widened until it was a full-on Malfoy smirk. He never thought he'd see the day when she addressed him so courteously. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare," he admitted. "But the resemblance is just uncanny. Except, of course, the hair and name. Her hair used to be longer."

The woman smiled slightly, her head a bit cocked to the side. "Well, that is curious," she replied, crossing her arms as she adopted a more relaxed stance. "I, um, just cut my hair a few months ago."

"Did you now?"

"Yeah." She laughed sheepishly. "It was quite the uncontrollable mane, you know. Nothing like it is now. My friends suggested a few products to, er, minimize the volume. Typically I don't pay much attention to appearances, but…" She shrugged, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "I wanted my hair to be in good condition for when I donated it, you know."

He was hardly surprised. The Granger he knew—undoubtedly the same one as the woman currently talking to him—wouldn't accept any aesthetic pampering unless it somehow benefitted the greater good. Still, he put on a pleasantly impressed expression. "That is quite noble," he told her, nodding thoughtfully. She grinned in agreement, and he continued. "Strangely enough, it does seem like something she would do."

The woman was momentarily taken aback. During the conversation, she had forgotten about their misunderstanding. "Who would?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Oh." She stood silently for a few beats, before telling him, "My name is Hermione Wilkins, by the way."

_It is definitely her, _he thought fervently. Out loud he said, "Is it now?"

"Yes."

"Odd."

"Hmm." She turned towards the cards again, but he wasn't done with her.

"So," he said, pacing himself to walk beside her, "these hair products. Are they like…like potions?"

"What, _magic _potions?" she asked sarcastically, laughter in her brown eyes. He shrugged noncommittally, a bit let down. He had expected another reaction, perhaps one that gave away her magical abilities. Honestly, he felt a little disappointed. "To an extent, I suppose. They sure work like some, though." She peered around him, as he raised his arms slightly in response.

"What?" he asked finally, after a few seconds of her looking around him.

"You don't have a basket," she stated suspiciously, returning part of her attention to the cards on the rack. "Aren't you going to buy something?"

"Must I?" he retaliated, smirking. Merlin, she noticed _everything_.

She let out an incredulous laugh, letting a smile spread fully across her face. "Well, we're at a store, aren't we?" she informed him sarcastically. She reached up for another card, this one with a sparkly blue snow globe adorning the front. Seeing that she couldn't reach it on her own, he took it and handed it over to her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied. Then he added almost as an afterthought, "And, if you absolutely _must _know, my things are being held for me." He nodded towards the line to the cashier, which had hardly moved since the beginning of their conversation.

For a moment he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing. Her previously warm smile had been immediately replaced by a scandalized look. She gaped at him, looking furious, before marching over to the salesman—cards forgotten—and taking the box from him. She stormed back into the aisle, dropping the box unceremoniously at his feet with an expectant expression. His brow furrowed angrily.

"What the hell was _that _for?" he asked, taking the box in his arms. It wasn't too heavy—at least, not for him. She was scowling as she flexed her sleeved arms.

"You can't make someone else hold your things for you; he's not your servant!" she told him rather matter-of-factly. As she said that, she had a smug smirk. Right then, however, it had fallen back to a wince. "What _is _that, anyway?"

"Whiskey," he replied unashamedly, shrugging to reposition his arms. He could let go the little spectacle she'd just put on near the counter. After all, something so Granger-like was welcome.

She frowned, looking at the box with a sombre expression. "What for?"

"Christmas," he grunted unhappily. Fantastic, yet another reminder that he'd be spending the holidays by himself. His mother would be visiting her sister Andromeda and her nephew Teddy. He was loathe to go—though he'd been most helpful recently in Auror assignments and services, and had proven, time and time again, that he was a changed man, he still was not universally trusted. He didn't mind, really, but even he had to admit that it got a bit lonely.

She fixed him with her sympathetic gaze, under which he squirmed a bit uncomfortably. "Won't you spend it with your family? Friends? A girl, perhaps?"

He shook his head hastily, desperately wanting to resume the playful banter that had been taking place before. "No, I think this year I'll celebrate it solo."

"Well," she began to tease, trying to give him a joking albeit faltering smile, "you could always spend it with me."

Though he knew it was more a joke than an actual invitation, her kind words still warmed him. In response, he gave her a half-smirk. "I just might," he responded. Then it was his turn to ask, "What about your family?"

She shrugged, and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she was genuinely not bothered by this. "They live in Australia. I tried to get them to visit, but…" She trailed off, her gaze now distant. An absent smile graced her face.

"The cold is unappealing?" he supplied, grinning fully now.

She laughed, her eyes flickering back up to meet his. "Yeah," she agreed, "you could say that."

They were both quiet for a few seconds, before he asked, "And no boyfriend, either?"

"Boyfriend?" she asked, sounding surprised and even slightly flattered by the question. "Ahh…no, not really," she answered. She turned so that she was once again facing the cards. "I know it sounds cliché, but I just…I want to get settled first, you know. A good, steady job—as a humanitarian lawyer, of course—and a nice house…Plus I want to find myself." She squeezed her eyes shut, blushing. "Oh, God, that sounded so cliché!"

He smiled half-heartedly. In his mind, he was urging her to go on. Just as he was about to voice his wishes, she spoke again.

"But _that_, I guess, is a story for another time," she sighed with a smile.

"Another time?" he asked, baffled. _What other time?_

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, as if she had only just remembered that he was still there. "I need to give you my address so you know where to come on Saturday!"

"Wait," he asked, quickly walking behind her as she grabbed a forgotten receipt off one of the shelves, and fished a pen out of her bag. "Saturday? I thought you were joking!"

She shook her head, scribbling down an address. When she finished, she handed it to him, dropping the pen back into her bag. "No, I was dead serious," she told him, grinning. "Tell the doorman at the lobby that you're visiting Hermione Wilkins." She looked over his shoulder. "The man's almost at the cashier; you should get going."

He stared at her curiously. She was even stranger than he remembered. "Do you usually make a habit of inviting strangers over for Christmas Eve?" he asked her, only half joking.

She rolled her eyes, finally grabbing the snow globe card she'd placed back on the rack. "We're not strangers. I'm Hermione Wilkins." She gestured towards him, prompting him to reply.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he responded, figuring that he might as well give her his real name. _It's not as if she doesn't already know who I am, _he thought, still puzzled as to why she insisted that she was Hermione Wilkins.

"And _I_," she told him, starting to walk away, "can't wait to hear more about your Hermione Granger." Once she was a bit farther away from him, she called out, "By the way, I can't stand whiskey! I prefer pink champagne!"

He laughed quietly to himself, shaking his head. _Such a funny little thing,_ he thought as he approached the salesman. "Excuse me," he said politely, "I'd like to put these back please."

The clerk cocked his head to the side, undoubtedly confused. "You've changed your mind? Well, would you like something else instead?"

He smiled now. "Yes, please. Could you show me your selection of pink champagne?"

* * *

**_December 23, 2005 _**

"Thanks for checking in today, Malfoy."

He looked up from the papers he'd been, until then, ruffling through, stressed. Potter had asked him to work that day on the MacMylon case, two wizards gone missing at a post-war celebration parade. That had been three months ago, and there had been no sign of either brother. "No problem, Potter," he nodded, offering a sympathetic half-smile as he picked up his quill and circled another detail he'd found.

The Auror office had been remodelled after an explosion done by a terrorist group of Dark Wizards two and a half years after the war. Instead of the original structure, it had now adopted a more Muggle layout, with a main area of cubicles for the investigative branches, individual secluded offices for the higher-ranking officials, and an underground, resistant training platform. Potter had his own office, as did Draco—both of who had graduated as Aurors very early on in their careers. Because of this, Draco was slightly surprised to see Wonder Boy inside his office (not that he held any grudge against Potter, of course).

In fact, they had a blossoming friendship, often going drinking together along with Weasley and Zabini, also Aurors but still in training. That was why Potter had trusted Draco to help him relocate the bushy-haired witch that had gone missing. Oh, sure, they worked heavily on the MacMylon case, but the entire office of Aurors was well aware that finding Granger was Potter and Weasley's main priority.

"I, um," began Potter uneasily, removing his glasses and tiredly rubbing his eyes. He looked physically and emotionally exhausted, and Draco knew that it was because of the job. Potter had fully thrown himself into this, hoping that he might find a clue as to Granger's whereabouts in one of the reports he often received. "I'm heading to the Weasleys' tomorrow night. Big Christmas dinner and all that."

"If you're asking me to be your date, you might want to check with Little Red first," the blond joked, half-smirking at his friend as he signed off on one of the forms and set it to the side.

"_Would _you like to come, though?"

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. While he got along well with the youngest Weasleys, both mainly thanks to his friendship with Potter, he was not a huge fan of the Burrow and evaded the place as much as possible. In fact, he had only set foot there once, and that was two years ago for the Potters' engagement party. Not only that, but he already had Christmas plans.

But the brunet did not need to know that.

"It's…not my scene," he finally responded, shaking his head slowly.

"Ah, come off it, Malfoy," insisted Potter, ever the intruder. "Christmas is to be spent with family, friends—good company?"

"Well, I'm planning to—"

"_Not _to be spent drinking oneself into oblivion and waking up in the backyard hammock," he chided annoyingly.

Draco huffed. Did Potter actually enjoy bringing that up? "No, thanks, as _flattered_ as I suppose I should be for such a gracious invitation. I think I'll just be having a small dinner." _Not entirely a lie._ "By myself." _Well._

Potter frowned, his brow furrowed, though Draco could tell he would say no more. "If you insist, then," he shrugged, heading out through the door. Draco didn't have time to bite his tongue before he called out to Hero Boy.

"Potter!" he said. "I'm sure we'll find her. There is hope yet."

Potter looked down, and on anyone else the look would have seemed embarrassed, but to someone who had grown accustomed to Potter's facial expressions one could tell he was anguished. "What makes you so sure?"

"Ahh, call it holiday optimism," he bluffed, saluting the speckled brunet.

Potter looked at him oddly. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy."

"Happy Christmas, Potter."

* * *

**A/N: Hello again! Thanks for following and favoriting :) Hope y'all liked this chapter! I'd really appreciate some reviews, you guys can help shape the story if you would or wouldn't like something in the plot, you know! **

**I am almost pulling my hair out from stress right now but I promise I'm trying to update the other stories, writer's block is a bitch. But anyways.**

**I went to an Imagine Dragons concert on Thursday and I literally cannot stop talking about it oh my goodness! If you don't listen to them, I highly recommend that you do! **

**Love always,**

**TGBW**


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